


Exit Extempore

by angel_gidget



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Just Married, but Remy learns a lesson too, like don't knock the boyscout motto, okay mostly Rogue working on HER temper, still working on their tempers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22626523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_gidget/pseuds/angel_gidget
Summary: Prompt for Tumblr's Rogue Gambit Week, Day #4: What does Gambit keep in his pockets?Rogue has a lot of expectations about what SHOULD be in her husband's pockets. They might have to agree to disagree.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Exit Extempore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DayenuRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayenuRose/gifts).



As far as evil dungeons to be trapped in went, this one wasn’t the worst. It was pretty budget, really. No henchmen or fancy tech outside of a power dampening field and very thick doors. Rogue had found that fairly annoying, but the really aggravating part was the levels. 

The whole place was a babushka-doll of holding cells within holding cells. The lack of lackeys meant there were no torturers and no guards to send out any alerts when she and Remy slipped their chains and began to make their way to the exit. That had seemed like a good start to their getaway.

In fact, the whole escape seemed like a cakewalk until the last door had the gall to be booby-trapped with a simple magnet that devoured both the lock picks from Remy’s hand even as he turned the tumblers to let them through.

It would have been a worthwhile sacrifice if that had been the last door.  
No such luck.  
Rogue looked over the steel-reinforced lock panel with a critical eye.  
”A’right. This lock’s ancient enough, Ah think Ah got a chance of picking it. Just gonna need one of your bobby pins.”

Remy gave a mournful shrug, “Sorry, chere. I’m out.”

“Your army knife, then?”

“Wouldn’t fit.”

“Wouldn’t fit? Whatya mean? What’s even in those dang pockets o’ yours, cajun?”

Her husband sighed, “Two cans of beans.”

Rogue continued to crouch a moment in bemused silence. The silence somehow morphed into glaring.

Remy held up his hands defensively, “It worked out so well last time! Thought I’d give carrying them around on purpose a try. They jus’… a lil’ bulky.”

“And what good is beans supposed to be against a power-dampening field?” Rogue bit out.

Remy opened his mouth, closed it, then folded his arms with a pout, “Now you jus’ bein’ mean.”

Rogue felt her own hackles rise at his defensive posture before she realized his hands were rubbing up and down his arms. It was cold. He was wearing a coat same as her, but she remembered that she was the only one wearing any decent layering underneath. 

They were supposed to be indoors, having a nice winter stay-cation, not accepting impromptu calls to suit up and check out the villain du jour base with fifty different sub-levels around the corner. Weird pocket contents or not, Remy had been ready for a night in. Like Rogue had promised.

Yeah, that was goin’ just great.

Rogue drew a deep breath, “Okay. Yes. Ah’m sorry, sugah. Ah’m just frustrated.”

Remy gave her a nod, and as his head dipped up again, she caught a twinkle in his eye. It didn’t stay subtle for long as a tiny grin—warm yet smug—bloomed across his face. 

“Mon coeur?”

“Yes?”

“Y’know you got like thirty bobby pins in y’hair right?”

Rogue blinked. They were gonna dress up for dinner. She’d had Ororo over to help her fix up her hair for it that very afternoon… and had left it that way when she slipped into uniform. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Dag-nabbit.”

—

It took ten bobby pins to make it all the way over to the dampening field and switch it off. They beat up the bad guy the exact amount as was appropriate for all the trouble the jerk had given them for the evening. 

When they got home, they wrapped themselves up in blankets, snuggling their demanding cats, and then each other. Rogue offered to make dinner, an apology for breaking her promise earlier than evening (and being snippy to boot.)

Remy burrowed deeper into the nest of blankets on the couch with a grateful smile. His eyebrows rose with a spark of curiosity as Rogue dragged their biggest pot-luck cooker out of the closet.

“We… expectin’ guests?” he asked with barely-concealed wince.

“Nah, hon. Just a lotta leftovers.” Rogue reassured, watching her man’s shoulders sag in relief. “I’m makin’ the biggest pot of chili this apartment has ever seen.”

Oliver sidled up to the edge of the couch and began pawing at a loose thread. Remy tapped a finger on the cat’s snout to distract him from his mischief. “No kiddin’?”

Rogue hummed, balancing the pot on one hip as she leaned forward to boop Remy’s nose in turn. “Yep. Gonna make a pot so big that every can o’ beans in this place is gonna disappear overnight.”

With a quick kiss to his lips, she darted toward the kitchen.

Remy watched her flit away, frowning as he turned over her words inside his head. 

He glanced back at Oliver, who gave a “meow” before reaching out a paw and batting Remy’s left nostril.

“Yeah. I guess dat’s fair.”

t.h.e. e.n.d.


End file.
